


The Trial

by Medeafic



Series: Supernova [10]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, Caning, Controlling Behavior, D/s, Hair-pulling, M/M, Needles, Riding Crop, mentions of ownership, scratching/abrasions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach and Chris continue their trial, and try to find some boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trial

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is somewhat more intense. Please don't read it if you think any of the tags above might trigger you.
> 
> NB: There are spoilers in some of the comments for future happenings in this fic, if you mind those sorts of things. :)

_This is so pointless. I only just woke up. And as much as you might wish I did, no Zach. I didn’t dream about you bossing me around. I dreamed about us fishing. It was all dark, no stars above. There were things glowing in the water, phosphorescent lights. Took me a while to realize what they were. Everything was upside down and we were fishing out the stars._

_I caught more stars than you and you pretended you didn’t care. But I knew you did. You wanted all the stars for yourself. Greedy._  
  
“Zach, come on. I don’t have anything to write about.” Chris puts down the pen and looks across the table at Zach, who is timing the proceedings on his iPhone.

“Just so we’re both on the same page – you _do_ understand what the word ‘obedient’ means, right? You’re not working on the assumption that it means ‘to complain constantly and not do as you’re told’? Because we should get that straightened out _right_ now, if so.”

“Ha-freaking-ha.”

 _Jesus Christ, fine. I feel safe right now. Nothing too bad has happened. You don’t_ actually _want to eat my food all the time, or make me crawl around, and even if you did…I guess I wouldn’t mind. Not for a few days, anyway._

_Fucking fuck. Come on, Zach, the time must be up now. Come on come on come on._

_Quit doing that eyebrow thing at me, I’m fucking writing aren’t I?_

_I still don’t get what I’m supposed to be writing about. It’s not like I’m going to break into poetry or say anything insightful. I don’t understand the point of this. There are some things that just can’t be articulated._

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fu_  
  
“Time’s up.”

“Thank fuck,” Chris mutters, throwing the pen on the table. He lets out an excessively loud and throaty sigh. The pen rolls over to Zach, who picks it up.

“Today, you are not going to swear at all. You’re going to be pleasant and courteous at all times.” Zach is smiling at him gently, tapping the pen lightly against the table top. “And you’re going to nod and smile and say ‘Of course, Zach, whatever you want,’ or similar, every time I ask you to do something. Instead of glaring at me.”

Chris changes his expression to a bright smile, although he’s rankling against being spoken to like a naughty schoolboy. “Of course, Zach. Whatever you want.” He looks back over what he’s written. “Uh. Can I swear in the journal? Because I already have. Although I could cross it out, I guess, if –”

“That’s not necessary. You can go and have your shower now. Leave the bathroom door open.”

“Yeah, I always do.”

“No. Leave the door _wide_ open.”

They look at each other.

“Sure. Whatever you want, Zach,” Chris says eventually.

Zach woke him that morning by whispering into his ear, and Chris is sure whatever he said has sunk into his subconscious, because he’s felt jumpy since he opened his eyes and turned his face to look at Zach. “Wake up,” Zach told him, as he blinked away the dreams, and it stirred a spark immediately. Like a double espresso shot bubbling in his veins.

“I’m awake,” Chris said back, and then it started. He was told to go to the bathroom, to brush his teeth, but not shower – _no, Christopher – not yet, you’re welcome to sit on a towel if you feel you have to_ , and Chris had to turn away until his face faded from scarlet. No shower until five minutes of journaling is completed, which in turn started a battle of wills, veiled in civility, over how often Chris was supposed to write, and what he should write, and how much.

Zach prevailed.

It’s been thirty-seven minutes since Chris woke up and he’s already balking at the self-satisfied smirk Zach gives every time Chris obeys an order. But in the shower he reminds himself, over and over, _You agreed to this, and he’s testing you_. He knows it won’t be like this for much longer. Or at least – he’s pretty sure. Zach has always said that being asked for permission for everything got on his nerves.

 _You’re not asking permission, though_ , says the unpleasant voice in his head. _He’s telling you_.

 _It won’t last much longer_ , he insists. _Zach will get bored and drop the overbearing control. And even if he doesn’t, it’s just a few days_.

_You don’t have to do this, you know._

_Sure,_ _I know that. Now fuck off._ He scrubs the shampoo out of his hair vigorously. _I mean – fudge off_.

When he returns to the bedroom, there are clothes laid out for him. Chris stops in front of the bed, staring at them.

“Get dressed,” says a voice in his ear, and he jumps, whirls around.

“Sh— _oot_ , Zach. Come _on_. Do you _have_ to creep up on me like that? Trust me, you’re scary enough as it is.”

Zach gives a modest smile. “Well, I wasn’t even trying that time. Get dressed. We’re going out. You slept most of the morning away.”

 _Out where?_ Chris wants to ask, but he’s getting it; he’s getting into it now. “Sure, Zach. Okay.” But after he dresses, Zach looks him over with a critical eye, and steps forward to roll up his shirt sleeves. Chris can’t help raising an eyebrow.

“What are you thinking?” Zach asks, his tone pleasant.

“I…nothing, really. I didn’t realize you objected so much to my fashion sense that you wanted to _dress_ me.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.” _Just another power play_.

Zach points at him, between the eyes. “That right there – what were you thinking then?”

Chris frowns, but answers. “I was thinking, in that case it’s just another power play.”

Zach smiles again, supercilious, and Chris carefully keeps his face blank.

“This is, um. Kind of full-on,” he says. “Are you still testing out the boundaries?”

“If you ask questions about every little thing I do, it’s going to become tedious. Quickly.”

Chris sighs. “Sorry.” But he sees Zach’s brows draw down. “I’m sorry, Zach,” he says politely.

“Today, you won’t ask any questions. Do you understand?” Zach sounds slightly bored, as he turns away to pick up one of his books.

“Yes. I understand.”

“Here.” Chris finds his hand closing around a hardback volume of poetry, as Zach guides him out into the main room, pushing at the small of his back. “I’m going to get ready now, and then we’ll go out. In the meantime, you may read. No – sit at the table, please. _No_ elbows on the table, Christopher. Manners.”

Chris manages to wait until Zach has left the room before he rolls his eyes. But, as he sits quietly, reading Walt Whitman’s _Leaves of Grass_ and replacing his hands in his lap every time he turns the page, he can’t stop the eventual grin and low snicker. _Okay, Zach. I’m off-balance. Score_. The very fact that he’s dressed feels off somehow – like he should still be naked. _How quickly these things become habit_.

  
***

  
In the lobby, Zach hands Chris a newspaper, the book of poetry and his notebook. “What are these for?” Chris asks.

Zach silently takes back the paper and marks it with a brief black stroke, then stuffs it into Chris’s hands again. “You need to keep your hands full.” He clicks the ballpoint pen a couple of times, smiles at Chris’s confusion. Chris stands still as Zach adjusts his hat for him and puts the pen into his top shirt pocket. “Besides, we can do the crossword together later.”

“Why do I need to keep my hands full?”

“You’ll see.” And Zach takes the paper from him again, plucks the pen from his pocket and makes another small mark next to the first.

“Oh – oh _fuck_.”

Another mark.

Zach looks up at him from beneath his hat, pen hovering expectantly. Chris closes his eyes and breathes out slowly.

“You’re keeping count of my infractions.”

“Clever boy. Not just a pretty face.” Zach grins and hands back the newspaper. “Come on. Let’s go.” He slides the pen back into Chris’s pocket, and Chris nods, resigned.

 _No questions. No cursing. You fu- uhhh. You moron_.

But Zach pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. Chris waits for him to speak. “Remember, a while ago, we agreed that the pain was not for punishment, that it wasn’t like that between us?”

“Yes. I remember.”

“I want you to know –” And for the first time today, Zach breaks his character; he’s suddenly not the omnipotent autocrat and it’s just Zach – just Zach. “I want to make it clear, that’s still the case. You understand, don’t you? When you break the rules, it’s just arbitrary. The rules are only there for you to break them, because I _know_ you’ll break them and I will punish you for that. But it’s just play. Not punishment, not really, because you haven’t done anything wrong and you won’t do anything wrong. But we’re calling it punishment because – because it suits us. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I absolutely understand.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you’ve disappointed me. Not today, not ever.”

“I won’t,” Chris promises. “I get it. I know, I always know. The pain is to show me that you love me.” And he wants to explain how very okay that is, because Zach looks _agonized_ for a second, like he’s about to start tearing out his own heart or something, but Chris finds that he can’t say anything sensible – he’s too inarticulate. “Zach, can I…I mean, I want to kiss you.” They look around the lobby. It’s quiet, and there’s a conveniently leafy plant blocking them from view of most of the room. Zach grabs him after only a moment’s hesitation, and they kiss. Chris mouths his way down Zach’s neck and dares to suck the skin briefly between his teeth, before Zach pushes him back.

“Hey! Vampire. I think you left a mark.”

Chris smiles, smug. “Now we match.”

Zach stares at him blankly for a moment before laughing loudly, and the staff behind the counter look over to see what’s going on. “I should add to your scoreboard for that,” he says. “But I won’t. You get one freebie, and that was it, so I hope you enjoyed it.”

A little way down the street, Chris sees a photographer, obviously a professional, and stops short. Zach keeps walking, turning back to beckon him. “Come on. Don’t make me keep you on a leash, Christopher. Although, you _did_ like that.” He grins, but Chris ignores it.

“Zach. Paparazzo.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t we –” He sees Zach’s eyes light up and hurriedly rephrases before another question slips out. “Perhaps we should go a different route.”

“No. This is the way we’re going.”

“But…Zach.”

Zach walks a few steps back to him and looks him straight in the eye. “How can I possibly control you when you can’t control yourself?”

“So it’s another test.”

“Yes. Enjoy.”

“This is why I needed my hands full.”

“Yes. Last thing we need is a picture of us with you flipping the bird at the photographer. Your people would probably authorize a hit on me. This way, at least _one_ of your hands is preoccupied. Halves the odds.”

“You –” Chris debates whether it’s worth it. It is. “You are a sadistic fucker, Zachary Quinto,” he says with a smile, and takes the pen himself to add a mark on the newspaper. “Let’s go.”

Zach talks the whole time, waving his hands around, but Chris barely hears what he’s saying. He’s concentrating on keeping his blood pressure down; he stares at his feet, glancing up occasionally to make sure he’s not going to run into a trashcan. It bothers him because here in New York, the attention has usually been less intrusive than in LA. It’s more unusual for the paparazzi to get so close here, but of course, it’s Kirk and Spock walking down the street together, so he understands, mostly.

But at the back of his mind, there’s an unwelcome suspicion.

“What are you thinking now?” Zach asks, once the photographer has lost interest and they’re much further down the street.

“Please tell me you didn’t set this up.”

Zach throws back his head and laughs in delight, bumps him gently with his shoulder. “Even _I’m_ not that sadistic. No. But I figured there would be a few of them around somewhere. You did very well, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I’ve had more entertaining times. More entertaining times involving knives and blood, in fact.”

Zach grabs him and hugs him, making several passersby do double-takes, and Chris is too shocked to reciprocate. They don’t touch in public, not like this, not slammed up hard against each other and so obviously passionate. Zach seems to remember after a moment, and lets him go, looking surprised at himself. “Let’s go get lunch.”

“Sure, Zach. Let’s do that.” Passing Zach’s test this time – and getting bear-hugged in public – has made him lighthearted. _Okay. Maybe I_ am _enjoying this._

  
***

  
They fill out the crossword together over lunch in a bistro, and then sit, content, watching the world go by outside. “Would you like a coffee?” Zach asks after a while.

“No. I’m good.”

Zach clears his throat. “Christopher, would you like a coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“ _Christopher_. Would you like a coffee?”

“Uh, okay. I guess so. Yes, I would like a coffee.”

“Ask me.”

Chris stares at him. “I can’t.” He _doesn’t_ want a coffee, anyway. He already had two before they left.

“Ask me,” Zach insists.

“Zach, I’m not allowed to ask questions. You told me that, this morning.” He’s trying to figure this out, think ahead of Zach and avoid getting himself in trouble.

“Ask. Me.”

“You keep changing the rules!”

“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself.” Zach grins at him.

“Did you just quote Walt Whitman at me?”

Zach ostentatiously crosses through the four lines on the paper, scoring five. Chris swallows a groan. “You’re not being very obedient,” Zach says, disapproving. “Asking questions and arguing when I’m giving you a direct order.”

Chris gives up. “Please may I have a coffee?”

“No, you may not. And –” He adds another stroke of the pen to the paper. “– you are not allowed to ask questions today, Christopher. You _know_ that.” He looks at Chris, and breaks into a laugh at his expression.

“This isn’t fair,” Chris mutters. “I don’t even have a _chance_.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Zach starts doodling on the paper, a passable representation of Chris’s frowning eyebrows and down-turned mouth. “Open your notebook, please. You can journal for five minutes.” He passes the pen to Chris, who snatches it. “What else are you supposed to be today, Christopher?”

Chris thinks. “Pleasant and courteous,” he grits out.

“And are you being pleasant and courteous?”

Chris closes his eyes, opens them again and looks at him. “No, Zach. I am not being pleasant and courteous.”

Zach slides the newspaper across the table to him, looking expectant. Chris watches his own traitor hand descend and add another stroke to the tally. Zach looks so pleased, with himself and with Chris, that it’s hard to stay irritated.  He starts smiling.  Zach smiles back.

_Maybe there’s no way to win, Zach, but I can outlast you. I’d count that as a win. And actually – I like your games. I don’t know why, but I do. It’s frustrating, but I think I’m frustrated at myself more than anything. It’s not like I shouldn’t see this stuff coming, but I never do._

_It’s fun. I’m never sure, and you’re unpredictable, so anything could happen. Anything does. And that’s fun._

_You hugged me before, in the middle of the street. We’ve never done that, not an intimate hug like that one was. Back slaps, hellos and goodbyes, good to see you agains – we’ve done that. But we’ve never hugged like that, not in public, unless we’re sure there’s no one watching. I wish we could. It doesn’t seem fair that we have to hide so much. I don’t know how you’ve put up with it so long._

__Chris pauses. He’s getting too close to something that he and Zach don’t talk about.

“What are you thinking?” Zach asks silkily, pausing the time on his iPhone.

“I’m…just. I don’t know. I was thinking about us, and having a relationship like ours. In public.” He’s about as articulate as a tree stump right now, but Zach seems to get it. His eyes narrow a little, and he gives a nod.

“Keep writing.” He pokes at his phone again, restarting the stopwatch.  
 _  
The games are fun, but I’m tired of you asking what I’m thinking. Like you’re waging a war on my mind, along with everything else. I’m starting to wonder how far you’ll go, Zach, because it’s insidious, this stuff you’re doing. Effective, I guess. But the more you do, the more I want to fight it. It’s invasive._

_I don’t regret it, though. I’m glad we’re doing it._

_I’ll be glad when it’s over, too._

_Come on, the time must be_  
  
“Time.”

Chris places the pen neatly on the table next to the journal, and closes the cover, smoothing it down.

“ _Would_ you like a coffee?” Zach watches Chris’s eyes flicker. “For real. I’m not fucking with you this time.”

“No, thank you. I’ve had enough caffeine for now.”

They walk back to the hotel and collect their things; get a cab back to Zach’s apartment. Zach allows Chris to use his key for the first time, and Chris has to fight not to laugh like a maniac about it. He relaxes as they walk in, and automatically starts taking off his clothes.

“Stop,” Zach says, and Chris’s fingers still over the buttons on his shirt. “Corey and Neal are coming over. I’m guessing you’d rather not be naked in front of them?”

Chris’s eyes widen. “I’d rather not, no.”

“In that case, you may stay clothed for now. But I’m going to have to punish you for it later.”

_In the name of all that is holy – how is that MY fault?_

__“You look like you might have something to say, Christopher.”

“No, Zach. I understand. You have to punish me when I break the rules.” _That’s the way the game works_.

“We can add it to your current tally,” Zach says graciously. “Instead of making it a separate issue.” He takes up the newspaper from the coffee table, and Chris turns away rather than watch him make yet another mark.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

Chris realizes, with a shock, that he’s half-hard in his jeans.

  
***

  
In front of Corey and Neal, Zach is perfectly normal, but Chris has a difficult time switching his mindset. Corey even takes him aside in the kitchen at one point and asks how things are going.

“Fine,” Chris says, surprised.

“You and the Z-man – everything’s good between you guys?”

“Yeah. We’re good. Better than good.”

Corey smiles nervously. “Because you just seem a bit, I don’t know, man. A bit distant. We weren’t kidding the other week, you know. Zach was really bad after – after you-know-who.”

“Zach dated Voldemort?” It’s an incredibly weak joke, but Chris doesn’t really want to answer Corey any more. He can’t think of a way to tell him to stop probing without it sounding rude.

“Look, I know it’s none of my business, but I’m a pushy kind of guy. And Zach’s one of my oldest friends, so –”

“So you’re asking what my _intentions_ are?” Chris grins, and Corey colors a little. “My intentions are pure. I promise.”

“I am _so_ nosy.” Corey shakes his head a little, looking rueful. “Thanks for not punching me out or something.”

“Zach would _never_ let me do something like that,” Chris says without thinking. “I mean, uh. You’re welcome?”

Corey’s lips twitch a little and Chris sees understanding dawn in his eyes. “Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just – Zach. Kinky motherfucker, or so I hear.”

“You’re telling me,” Chris says fervently, and Corey laughs.

“Yeah. He can be intense. So, I don’t know, if you ever wanted to talk or something, not about, you know –” Corey holds up his hands, looks embarrassed. Waves of _I really don’t want to know about my best friend’s freaky sex life_ are rolling off him. “I mean, just if you want to talk it out or something, bitch about the way he dresses like a five-year-old with a hat fetish, feel free to give me a –”

“Why are you two having a confab in the kitchen?” Zach asks, sliding between them to get to the fridge. “Aren’t we worthy of your discourse? Who has a hat fetish?”

“Just some girl-talk,” Corey says. He smiles, and pats Chris on the shoulder. “Definitely go blond. It’ll make your eyes really sing.” He strolls out of the kitchen.

Zach snorts, tosses a water bottle to Chris, who catches it clumsily. “After they’re gone I want to start in on that plan we had,” Zach tells him quietly.

“What plan? Oh, God _damn_ it.”

Zach happily pretends to lick his finger and mimes a mark in the air. “Fucking you in every room.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.” Chris smiles. “Fun.”

“Fun.”

  
***

  
It’s not _quite_ as fun as Chris anticipated.

They start in the main bathroom, where Zach has stacked sterile needle packs on the countertop. Chris winces.

“And what was that thought?” Zach asks, watching him in the mirror.

“Um. That sometimes I forget.”

“Forget?”

“Forget isn’t the right word. Sometimes – sometimes I only remember some parts of you. Sometimes the other parts are more…hidden.”

“Sometimes you don’t remember that I love hurting you?”

“Yeah.” And Chris sees that look again in Zach’s face, the same distressed, traumatized look from the lobby this morning, smoothed over instantly. “But it’s good that you do,” he adds quickly. “I don’t forget because I wish it weren’t there, I just – sometimes you’re so–” _Don’t say normal, don’t say normal_. “You’re so mercurial.” He watches Zach think that over, and then smile a little.

“Well. I am a Gemini.”

Zach makes him watch in the mirror while he stabs a needle slowly into his skin, deeper than usual, marking a large _ZQ_ in blood drops across Chris’s pectorals. Chris would much prefer not having to watch it happen, but he does as he’s told, even though he can see his own face getting paler in the mirror. The pain is like a high-pitched internal squeal streaking through his synapses, and Chris has to ask for time-out twice. _Too drastic_. Zach was right – he definitely needs his safe words. And Zach stops immediately each time, but Chris sees something flash across his face that he’s never seen before when he’s safe-worded: frustration.

When he’s finished, Zach dabs a fingertip into the blood and pats Chris’s mouth.

“Open.”

The taste reminds him, again, of cutting into Zach, and he feels nauseous. But Zach smiles in satisfaction, pushes him roughly forward over the sink, holding him by the neck, and fucks him like that. Chris’s face is close up to the mirror, so that he can see his own flinching in intimate detail. He drips a few splotches of blood into the sink, the red blooming an astonishing, rich carmine against the white ceramic, and it’s that sight, combined with Zach’s hand working him over, that pushes him over the edge. He blows his load all over the countertop, and seconds later is disturbed at his own reaction.

Zach pulls out before he comes, and wipes himself down while Chris recovers. “Guest bedroom next.”

This time, it’s hair-pulling and then Zach gouging his nails deliberately into the needle marks until Chris gasps at the pain. Zach is all up in his face watching every single contortion of his mouth and squinting of his eyes until – something. Zach sees something, looks satisfied, and it’s enough for now, apparently, because he stops the hurting. Fucks him face to face with a thumb pressed firmly on the pulse in Chris’s neck, and makes Chris jack himself to a second, tired orgasm.

By the time they make it to the lounge, the blood has dried on both of them, smeared over their skin, and Chris is exhausted and aching all over.

“I don’t think I can do it again,” Chris says. “Not so quickly.”

“Sure you can. Because otherwise I’ll have to punish you for it.” Zach still hasn’t come once. “But it doesn’t have to be quick. We can take our time. We have all the time in the world.” He pulls Chris towards the sofa by the hand, and Chris follows, yawning. He leans against the back of it and lifts his face up for Zach to kiss him, feeling a little dizzy.

“Tell me I’m good. Please.” He sounds pitiful to his own ears, but he wants to hear it. Needs to hear it.

“You’re so good, my Christopher, my gorgeous, golden boy, you’re so _very_ good,” Zach says into his neck. “You deserve a little help, because you’ve been so good.” And Zach kneels down in front of him, smiling as Chris’s eyes flutter closed.

His mouth is warm and wet and his tongue so practiced that Chris finally _does_ manage to get it up again. Zach’s satisfied noises make Chris’s heart beat faster. Making Zach happy is becoming his primary focus, he realizes, and – it’s a little scary.

He’s been so thoroughly fucked already that Zach doesn’t need to add any more lube. He just slides right in, Chris on his hands and knees on the floor, the soft carpet like clouds under his tingling fingers. After a while Zach pulls him up on his knees, holding Chris close into his chest and bites him across the back of his shoulders, up the back of his neck into the hairline, little nips that make Chris’s cock jump.

“Do you love me?” Zach asks, and it’s not the kind of question he usually asks in the middle of this kind of thing, so Chris has to think about it for a second.

“Of course,” he manages to say.

“I think I’m going to die of love sometimes, Christopher. It’s terrifying.”

The idea that Zach would be scared of anything strikes Chris as funny, but he doesn’t laugh. He does know, after all, that there are things that Zach fears.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Zach is murmuring, his hand playing over Chris’s dick.

“I’m yours.” Chris is close now.

“Tell me I own you.”

“You own me.”

“Make me believe it.”

Chris reaches behind to touch Zach’s face. “You own me, Zach, right now. Absolutely. You own me completely.” Then Chris is lost; he manages a weak orgasm, hissing when Zach doesn’t immediately take his hand away, his cock is so _sensitive_ – but Zach is biting into him, coming hard and breathing harder, hot damp pants through his teeth.

He pulls Chris into the shower with him and washes both of them down; tender with the cloth over Chris’s shoulder and chest and kissing over his closed eyelids. It’s all Chris can do to stay awake through the thorough aftercare Zach insists on, until he’s in bed and the last thing he feels is Zach sliding in beside him, pulling him close.

  
***

  
They both wake early the next morning, and Zach gives him some painkillers to take, despite Chris insisting that he’s fine, really. After he showers and replaces Bandaids, Chris comes back out to the lounge to eat breakfast with Zach, who declares that his phone is missing.

“I think I left it at the Bowery, in the room. I’d like you to run over there this morning and get it for me. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…I’m thinking I’m not your PA.” Chris regrets his honesty as soon as it comes out, but Zach only looks faintly amused. Not glowering. “But of course, I’ll go,” Chris adds.

“Of course.”

“I’m pretty sure you had it yesterday. You timed my journal writing with it. And Zach–” He can’t think of a way to phrase it that Zach will respond to otherwise, so whatever. One more mark on his score card isn’t going to make much difference now. “Are we still doing the question thing?”

Zach lazily strokes another mark on his tally, and looks up. “I think…yes. For today, still no questions. And still no swearing.”

Chris sighs. “I’m going to try calling your cell. It’s probably lying around here somewhere.”

“That’s not going to make any difference.”

But Chris is already pulling out his own cell and dialing. Faintly, from the bedroom, he hears Zach’s phone. He looks at Zach, smiling. “Solved. Without wasting time going back to the Bowery.”

“Perhaps I’m not making myself very clear,” Zach says. “I left my phone at the Bowery. You are going to get it. Now.”

“But –” _But your cell is right there in the other room, this is ridiculous, you’re just fu- screwing with me._

“I suggest you get dressed, because you need to be out the door in five minutes. Or…”

 _Or you will regret it_. Zach doesn’t have to say it.

While he’s viciously pulling his legs into his jeans, Chris wonders why he’s doing this. It’s crazy. There is absolutely no reason at all to traipse halfway across the city to stand in a hotel room and pretend to look for Zach’s cell. Not when it’s lying there on the goddamn bedside table – he can _see_ it, for Christ’s sake.

And yet, he’s doing it.

Zach swaps out his t-shirt for a different choice, and afterwards Chris realizes that he didn’t feel even the slightest bit of resentment. Zach’s micromanagement has become oddly comforting in the face of his more outlandish requests. Like searching for a phantom phone.

“Give me a call when you get there,” Zach says, smiling.

“Sure, Zach. I’ll call.”

It takes a long time to get back to the hotel, in the middle of morning rush, so Chris has a lot of time in the taxi to think. He half wishes he’d brought his journal, so that he could write some of it down. Fishing in his pocket produces a short, faded receipt, and the cabbie lends him a pen with a grunt.

He writes in tiny, cramped letters, wanting to preserve what little space he has.

 _Perhaps I should be worried that I’m getting used to this. I am traveling through rush hour to an empty hotel room for no good reason, Zach, except that you told me to. I guess that’s a good enough reason for me, though. If it makes you happy, I’ll do it. If I can. But is that a good way to be? Maybe I let people push me around too much. Not just you, but_  
  
He runs out of space before he can really explore the thought.

When he reaches the hotel room, he calls Zach’s cell. “Yeah. I’m here. Your phone isn’t.”

“Did you look under the bed?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps you should do that.”

Chris feels a surreal certainty that the phone will be under the bed, even though he knows it’s in Zach’s apartment, in Zach’s hand, _being spoken into by Zach_. He kneels, looks under the bed.

“It’s not there.”

“Oh, okay. My bad. Hey, I actually have it here. In fact, yeah – I’m using it right now. But thanks for looking, Christopher. I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome.” And Chris actually _means_ it, which scares him.

“What are your plans for today?”

“Well, I’m –” _No no no no_ , his brain screams. “I’m not sure yet, Zach. You haven’t told me.” The warm laugh down the phone line gets Chris’s heart thumping, his cock stirring.

“I think we’d better deal with the issue of your punishment. Before you rack up any more points. What do you think?”

“That…sounds like an excellent idea.”

“Come home. Come home so I can play with you for a while.”

It’s not comforting, especially the fact that the line goes dead without Zach even saying goodbye. Chris stops off to get a coffee in the hotel restaurant before he gets a cab back to Zach’s place. The five-minute interaction with the hotel staff helps calm his nerves a little, and he talks the whole way back to the cab driver, who looks alternately bored and annoyed. But it’s the contact that counts, right now. Because once he sets a toe back across that line, once he’s in Zach’s apartment, he’s not his own person any more. He’s Zach’s. So in the meantime, he sucks up as much humanity as he can from the people around him and tries not to think about what’s waiting for him.

When he steps over the threshold, Zach appears in the doorway across the room, looking excited. He’s practically crackling with it, although it’s suppressed. Chris starts pulling off his clothes, resisting the urge to rip the front door off its hinges and run as Zach walks over to him slowly.

“Hello,” Zach says. “You’ve been very good.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like a puppet, Zach. Like a marionette.”

“Dancing for me?” Zach reaches out to stroke his hair back in place and cups his chin. “You’re so very good at it, Christopher.” He leans in close, staring in concentration. “What was that? What was that thought? No, wait. Let me guess. You think you’re _too_ good at it. You’re worried.”

“A little. Yeah. It doesn’t seem completely healthy to be like this. I thought things would be harder, but…I’m okay with everything. But surely that’s not a _good_ thing. I don’t know.” It helps to articulate the thought, although he doesn’t think Zach will agree that it’s unhealthy. Zach, if anything, luxuriates in Chris’s subservience, and always has, even before this trial.

But Zach is smiling, a soft and real smile. “You’re finding your boundaries, Christopher. At last. I was wondering whether you would ever…well; it doesn’t matter right now.”

“I wrote something,” Chris says, before he forgets again. “For my journal.” He hands Zach the receipt. “We can stick it into the notebook.”

Zach looks down at it, his expression slowly turning from blank to joyful to inscrutable. “Go to the bathroom – there’s something in there. Bring it to me, please. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

Puzzled, Chris makes his way to the main bathroom. The sink makes him think of the blood again, and he shudders. His chest today is still pink and sore, bruised in some places and puffy in others. The nail imprints are deep red. The mark itself is not really very recognizable as a _ZQ_ , though, as he turns to compare it to the still-present but very faded sharpie initials on his ass.

It’s when he turns around again that he sees there is water in the bath, just a little, and Zach’s rattan cane is floating in it. Its yellow color has deepened, and Chris wonders how long it’s been in there. Zach occasionally sets it with the tip in a glass to soak up water – for maintenance, he told Chris, the first time he asked. But never in a bath, not like this.

He takes it out. Doesn’t know whether he should dry it or leave it wet, but it’s dripping on his feet, so he pats it with a towel.

 _You are taking the instrument of your own torture to your torturer_ , he tells himself as he walks to the bedroom. _What is wrong with you? This is not normal behavior_.

_I don’t care. I don’t care, I want this. So shut up._

_What the fuck happened to your boundaries?_

_I don’t know. I guess I haven’t found them yet. And quit swearing, you’ll just get us into trouble._  
  
In the bedroom, Zach is idly whipping the bedspread with the riding crop. Chris flinches at the noise, each crack into the soft material.

“What was that thought?” Zach asks curiously.

“I was thinking, I’m glad you don’t hit me that hard.”

Zach looks surprised. “I hit you a lot harder than this, Christopher.”

Chris looks at him.

Zach points at him with the crop. “Now you’re thinking…‘I’m scared.’ Right?” Chris nods. “It’s alright to be scared.”

“You like it,” Chris says automatically.

“I like it,” Zach agrees, taking the cane from Chris’s immobile fingers.

_Sometimes I think there really is something – something not quite right about you, Zach. I love you, but…Jesus._

_But,_ he reminds himself, _you like getting whipped and caned and cut. Well, okay. Maybe not caned so much. But does it make you any less messed up, just because you like to take it rather than give it?_  
  
He’s lucky, Chris reflects, that Zach didn’t ask him to spell out his thoughts again just then. But Zach is focused on the cane, smiling a little, his eyes bright. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning.

“I don’t like to soak my canes very often, Christopher. It can warp the rattan if you’re not careful, and – well, it’s overkill, really. A soaked cane is heavier. But more supple.” He whips it into the bedspread and Chris jumps. “And harder to control because of the extra weight, so you’re going to have to really work to stay still for me.”

Chris makes a faint sound in the back of his mouth, but nods.

Zach holds up the newspaper. There are fifteen tally marks in groups of five. “Fifteen – that’s – no, that’s wrong,” Chris splutters. “No – no, there were only eight or nine when I left this morning!”

“Well, some for not jumping fast enough when I told you to go look for my phone. And a few more because of being dressed when Corey and Neal were over – one just didn’t seem enough in the end. After that it just seemed neater to round it up to the nearest five.”

Chris can’t stop glancing back and forth between the cane and Zach’s face. Fifteen, with a soaked cane? He can barely stand to think about it, let alone _do_ it. The cane has always been the one thing he loathes – probably because Zach is so fond of it.

“Christopher, I’m a reasonable man.” Zach spreads his arms. “If you can think of an alternative, I’m happy to negotiate.”

“I – no – whatever you want, Zach,” Chris replies, his voice strangled.

Zach looks highly satisfied and shrugs. “I can see that it’s difficult for you. So – you can swap out five of the cane strokes for something else. The riding crop, perhaps?”

Chris feels intense relief flooding through him like a dam has burst, and nods quickly. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Ten from the cane and – yes, I think another ten from the crop in that case. Because it’s a lot easier for you, the crop, isn’t it?”

Zach smiles at him and Chris desperately tries not to look annoyed. He’s been talked into doubling up without even stopping to think about it, and he’s stupid. So damn stupid, so damn often. It’s getting old. This is Zach’s game, but it’s a game for two, so maybe…maybe he can find some way to get something on the scoreboard. Something other than punishment tallies, at least.

“The crop is easier for me, yes,” he says eventually. “So whatever you think is best, Zach, I’m happy with your decision.” The fact that he actually _is_ happy to defer to Zach’s decision is suddenly more frightening than Zach himself. But that’s the game.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to stay quiet during this,” Zach says, almost sadly. “And it’s a shame, because I love hearing you scream, but I’m going to have gag you.”

“But you prefer it when I stay quiet on my own.”

“Yes, but –”

“And,” Chris says, “it’s the easiest way for me to…”

Zach smiles a little, like he knows exactly what Chris is up to. “Yes. You find it easier to fly off wherever you go when you’re voluntarily silent. But that’s up to me, isn’t it? Whether you go under or not.”

“Yes,” Chris whispers, and clears his throat. “Yes, Zach. It’s up to you.” But there’s still a chance to win something on Chris’s own terms. “I just wish you’d let me try without a gag, even if you don’t want me flying. So I can show you how _obedient_ I can be.”

It’s that one word that makes all the difference, Chris notices. Zach contemplates for a few moments, twirling the cane idly in his fingers. “Alright. Since it’s so important for you. But I _don’t_ want you flying, not today. I want you here, with me. You don’t get to escape from me that way. What was that thought?”

Chris drops his gaze. “I was thinking that you’re selfish sometimes, Zach.”

Zach’s eyes flash, but his tone is mild. “True. But if I don’t get to be self– to show _appropriate self-interest_ during a time like this, when do I?”

Chris has to smile at that.

 _This was a really, really dumb idea_ , Chris thinks immediately after the first stroke hits his ass. Zach has him leaning over the bed, bending from the waist and balancing precariously on his fingertips. By the time five strokes are done, his lip is bleeding because he’s bitten into it so hard.

Zach pauses, sitting down on the bed next to him and looking into his face. “You want the gag? It’ll probably help you deal with the pain if you can scream about it.”

But Chris shakes his head.

He makes it through another three, but the ninth rips the sound from him, alien to his own ears, like shrieking metal. He expects Zach to stop then, but he doesn’t – he continues with the final stroke and Chris collapses, falling half off the bed before his ass touches his heels and he scrambles up again from the pain of it. He’s choking out noises, and he’s crying, but he doesn’t care right now.

Zach pulls him up on the bed properly, laying him down gingerly on his side and sliding up beside him. “You’re incredible,” he says, tracing his fingers through the tears on Chris’s face. He tastes them, and Chris watches, sees that his eyes are wide and excited.

“I made a noise,” he croaks.

“You screamed for me. I was hoping you would.” He sucks Chris’s lower lip into his mouth, tasting the blood.

 _Oh. Well, that’s different. That’s okay_. Chris feels a little better about it. _I still came out ahead._

“Shall we move on?” Zach asks, and Chris gives a little sigh of assent. “I want you on your back for this one. You can watch, this time. See what I’m doing. Since you clearly have no idea how hard I hit you – I think you’d better find out.”

Chris opens his mouth in alarm. _No, I’d rather not_. But what comes out is, “Of course, Zach. Whatever you want.”

Zach springs up and pulls him by the legs down to the end of the bed, making Chris cry out in pain again. “Spread your legs, please,” Zach tells him.

Every instinct in Chris’s body is telling him to keep his legs closed and maybe wrap his hands protectively over his cock for good measure. He opens his legs. “I think I’ll get you to pull them up,” Zach says, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

And so Chris finds himself drawing his knees up towards his chest and tucking his hands under them to secure his legs in place. “No – wider still,” Zach says impatiently, and Chris, very faintly, thinks _How about you try it and see how easy it is, huh?_ But mostly he just wants to do a good job, so he tries his best to let his limbs be moved into position by Zach’s hands. It feels almost unbearably vulnerable. “I think the yoga is working,” Zach says, and then trails the tip of the riding crop down Chris’s inner thigh. “Eyes open, Christopher, you can’t watch from behind closed eyelids. There you go. Ready?”

Five strokes each side down his thighs, getting closer and closer – _way_ too close – to his balls, so that by the last two Chris is shaking so hard that he knows it might affect Zach’s aim. And actually seeing how much force Zach puts behind each stroke does _not_ help. _The pain is how he shows love_ , he reminds himself, and thinks it over and over again, clinging on to the words like they can keep him still. Compliant. The noises he makes are partly from agony, but partly from fear.

“What are you thinking now?” Zach asks quietly, once it’s over. He bends over Chris, who has let his legs fall down again.

“I’m thinking…you must love me an awful lot.”

“I’m thinking you’re right.” Zach pauses, and then says roughly, “Roll over. I want to fuck you.”

Chris rolls.

  
***

  
Afterwards, covered in gels and creams and unnecessary bandages, Chris falls into a deep sleep before Zach wakes him again, hours later. Zach is dressed and ready to go out.

“I have that Independent Filmmakers Gala,” he reminds Chris.

“Oh, right. Have a good time. I’m just gonna keep sleeping for a while.”

“No, you’re not. Get up, please. You can go take a piss and then come to the kitchen.”

Chris obeys, nervously. He doesn’t quite know what to expect. He’s heavy with sleep still, dragging a little as enters the kitchen, where there is a plate of antipasto and a fresh bread roll on the bench. “Eat that. You missed lunch. You’ll be missing dinner, too.” Zach watches him eat every mouthful, and it’s disconcerting.

After that, Zach takes him to the lounge room. There is a white square of paper stuck to the wall, and a line in tape on the carpet, parallel with and close to the wall.

Chris looks at the tape and back at Zach, who holds his face with one hand. “Stand still,” he says, and Chris watches him bring up – a _lipstick_? Bright red. With sparkles.

“I got this at the drugstore. I don’t know if it’s really your color, but I guess we’ll see,” Zach says, smiling a dangerous smile. “Close your eyes.”

Chris obeys, fully expecting to feel Zach painting up his mouth. But instead, Zach draws a thick, sticky line from the top of his forehead, down his nose, over his mouth and chin. And then two more horizontal lines across his cheeks.

Chris blinks into Zach’s eyes, confused.

“Stand over there. Toes on the tape. _No_ , Christopher, facing the wall.”

Chris turns to face the wall, yawning widely. He stretches. His thighs are still sore from the riding crop and his ass is throbbing. In front of his face is the square of white paper, a couple of inches away from his reddened nose. “Don’t you have to – I mean, I thought you had to leave soon,” he says.

“I do. Hold your hands behind your back, please.” Chris obeys, although it’s difficult to have them resting too close to the welts of the caning, and then Zach comes up very close behind him to speak in his ear. “You’re going to stand here like this and wait for me. You will not move your hands or your feet, and you will not lean against the wall. Do you understand?”

Chris nods wearily. “I don’t know how long I can keep it up, though, Zach. I’m tired. I’m really tired.”

“I want you to try. And if you can’t do it, that’s fine. But I will have to –”

“– punish me,” Chris finishes for him. “Perhaps you should just do that now, and I could go back to bed.”

Zach leans against the wall, looking at him darkly. “What’s the point of this exercise, do you think?”

Chris stares straight ahead, not daring to meet Zach’s gaze. “Um. Well. I don’t really know. I guess it’s another test.”

“It’s not just another test.”

“Well…then I don’t know, Zach. I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing this because it makes me happy. It will make me happy, when I’m out tonight, to think of you standing here, doing what you’re told, even though it’s just about impossible. It will make me happy to think that you’re struggling to be obedient for me, even when I’m not with you.”

“Oh.”

“Are we clear?”

“We are clear.”

“I’m going to sprinkle baby powder behind you, so I can see how much you move your feet.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He really doesn’t. Chris has no intention of moving.

“I know that,” Zach says. “But nevertheless.”

It _is_ just about impossible not to slump forward, Chris finds quickly, because he’s so tired and so sore that he sways where he stands. It’s not long before his eyes droop shut and his nose bumps the paper on the wall. It leaves a red, sparkly smudge. He can’t even cheat and turn his face, because of the lipstick on his cheeks as well. As time passes, and his hands begin to cramp around each other, the red blotches on the paper increase, and so does his concern about what Zach might say when he gets back. Will he be disappointed?

But – thinking of Zach amplifies his resolve each time. He’s glad to be able to do this for Zach, or try to do it, anyway. Just to make Zach happy. And he knows that Zach is thinking of him, staring at the wall, his nose smeared over with cheap, strawberry-scented lipstick. Like a clown. Like Rudolph. Chris grins, ducks his head, bumps the paper again. Another red scuff. He scowls. At least he hasn’t moved his feet, or doesn’t think so – he doesn’t want to look behind to check in case it throws off his balance.

He loses track of the time. His feet and ankles are getting a little numb by the time Zach comes back, and his shoulders sag in relief. But Zach doesn’t speak to him, just moves around the apartment as though Chris isn’t even there, as though he’s just a strange ornament in the room.

After about ten minutes, he finally comes close and looks over Chris’s shoulder at the wall, reaches over to pull down the paper. It’s crisscrossed with red smudges by now.

“Go and wash your face,” Zach says softly, and Chris stumbles out of the room.

Even after two washes, a faint pink blush remains across his skin, and some errant sparkles. Zach, taking pity on him, grabs some kind of skin care product from the cabinet and wipes his face over again. The cotton pad is stained deep pink by the end, but Chris’s face is clean.

“I need the newspaper,” Chris mutters afterwards, and Zach raises an eyebrow briefly, but follows him back into the lounge.

Chris grabs up a pen and the newspaper and looks at Zach, making sure he watches as he marks another short black line, a little away from the previous tally. “Were you happy tonight, thinking about me here?”

Zach looks like he’s about to answer, but is overcome before he can get the words out. He pushes Chris back up against the wall, the tape still marking the line on the carpet, baby powder flying up around their feet, and kisses him ferociously until both of them are panting, lips sore and flushed. “Yeah,” Zach says. “Yeah, I was fucking delirious.”

“I was happy too.”

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Yeah.”

“Come to bed. You can write in your journal and then you’re done for the day.”

_There are some things I like more than others about this whole thing, Zach, but it’s true – I was happy tonight. I’m not entirely sure why, but knowing that you were pleased with me, it made everything worthwhile. I’m not saying I want to do that again, but I like that we’re feeling out things together._

_It’s like I’ve been traveling through space for billions of years, and I’m finally finding the edges of it; the edges of reality. I never really could wrap my head around the concept of an infinite Universe. I don’t think my patience is infinite either. Or my ability to give in to your will._

_But I like that you’re tough on me._

_I like that things aren’t fair._

_I never knew that about myself, or I didn’t want to admit it, and it freaks me out, but it’s true. Now that I know that, I have to figure out what to do with the knowledge._

_I hope you’re finding out what you wanted about yourself, too. Your Shadows._

__Zach closes the notebook and looks down at Chris, who is fighting to stay awake.

“I am. Finding out.” He looks troubled.

“Is it a good thing? You can add that question to the tally if you like. I don’t mind.”

“No more tallies. Not for tonight, anyway.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, what, where, when, why, how? And fucking _fuck_ , you were hard on me today.”

Zach smiles back wanly. “Yes. And tomorrow too. But if it’s too much –”

“It’s not. But – promise me, this is how you wanted it?”

“It’s how I wanted it.”

“I do love you, you know.” Zach looks mildly surprised, but then smiles. “You just – looked like you needed to hear it.”

Zach nods. “I did. Thanks.” He puts aside the journal and turns off the bedside light, snuggling into Chris. “Hey.”

“Mm?”

“You make a _much_ better sub than I do. Kudos.”

“I know,” Chris mumbles. “I’m fucking awesome, right?"


End file.
